Chapter 256 Crew.

Chapter 256: 256 Crew.

I absolutely love working in corporate research facilities.

In the superhuman ecosystem, high-end laboratories are the ultimate controlled environment.

A lot of these major defense manufacturers actually keep a roster of B-list heroes on permanent retainer just to guard the premises.

It is a smart overhead expense, considering that in any given fiscal year, at least half a dozen disgruntled lab techs will inevitably fall into a vat of experimental waste and develop the ability to shoot lasers out of their eyes.

When that happens, the board of directors really only has three options—put the new mutant on the payroll, buy their silence with a massive offshore settlement, or wait around for them to smash up the lobby trying to reclaim their stolen patents.

Villains, naturally, still break into these places on a weekly basis. It is simply the cost of doing business in the bleeding-edge super-science industry.

Intergate Arms was a mid-level player in the global arms race, but corporations in their bracket were constantly desperate to attract venture capital.

And the absolute best, most efficient way to demonstrate the value of your experimental hardware to foreign investors is to have a high-profile bad guy try to steal it.

Or, better yet, successfully steal it and turn it on.

No executive would ever admit it on the record, but the simple reality of modern weapons manufacturing is that the best marketing campaign is a live-fire demonstration.

But that gets incredibly tricky when you have to navigate international treaties, ethical oversight committees, and the Geneva Conventions.

Gone are the golden days of the industrial revolution when a guy like Nikola Tesla could just fire up a death ray and blow Thomas Edison’s armored dirigible out of the sky over Manhattan. More’s the pity.

But you know who doesn’t care about international arms treaties?

Registered villains.

If a defense contractor wants to prove their new localized earthquake machine actually works, they just accidentally leave the vault unlocked.

A guy in a mask breaks in, steals the prototype, and levels a mountain range. The villain eventually gets punched out by a hero, the threat is neutralized, and the corporation gets a free, globally televised demonstration of their new WMD.

Then they quietly sell the blueprints to the highest bidder.

I had taken a few of those corporate demonstration contracts in the past, but I was always incredibly careful to negotiate the exact terms.

I made sure my crew was the designated loser in the script, or I restricted the weapon’s use to the interior of the facility itself.

I didn’t want the federal government kicking down my front door to retrieve a stolen dirty bomb.

Never trust a corporate executive not to stab you in the spine if it saves them a dime on taxes. Get everything in writing, and expect them to try and screw you over anyway.

Still, staging a heist in a private lab meant excellent publicity, a massive paycheck, and zero civilian casualties.

You didn’t have to worry about accidentally shorting out an old lady’s pacemaker when you pushed your powers to the limit.

The environment was strictly contained, built to withstand volatile chemical spills and explosive test subjects. And the security cameras were always perfectly positioned for maximum broadcast angles.

I steered the Cruiser up to the heavily fortified gates of the Intergate Arms compound.

I analyzed the layout through the reinforced perimeter fence as we waited for clearance. I hadn’t pulled a job at this specific campus before, but it followed the standard brutalist architectural playbook.

Massive, windowless concrete bunkers hunkered down on the manicured lawns like giant stone tortoises, designed to contain heavy blast waves.

Further back, towering glass cylinders rose into the sky, the tallest one sporting a massive, illuminated Intergate logo.

"Your clearance is verified," the heavily armed guard grunted, handing my clipboard back through the window. "Welcome to Intergate Arms."

"Appreciate it," I said, rolling the window up and cruising onto the private asphalt.

I parked near the primary research doors. Glacia and I stepped out, moving through the sliding glass entrance into a sterile, heavily scrubbed reception lobby.

The desk attendant took one look at my armor, hit a button on her console, and within three minutes, Lacey Davenport swept out of the executive elevators, flanked by a massive gaggle of nervous-looking corporate suits.

"Miles! Outstanding timing," Lacey beamed, stepping forward. "And Glacia! Always a genuine pleasure."

Lacey extended a hand. Glacia took it, offering a single, perfectly calibrated nod. "Miss Davenport. You seem well."

"Never better!" Lacey declared smoothly. "High-level logistics are always best handled when everyone is operating at peak efficiency. Now, I know you are on a tight schedule. Shall we review the staging area?"

"Lead the way," I said.

We moved deeper into the facility, our boots echoing sharply against the polished linoleum. The gaggle of corporate executives trailed a few paces behind us like anxious penguins.

"Intergate Arms has been an absolute pioneer in alternative energy development for the past decade," Lacey pitched effortlessly as we walked. "They are constantly pushing the envelope. Their patents are in high demand for heavy power generation, wide-scale decarbonization efforts, and off-grid tactical deployments.

"Firefly Industries has invested a substantial amount of capital in their latest breakthrough. We are incredibly eager to see it perform under... extreme duress."

"I’m sure you are," I murmured, scanning the hallway for structural weak points and security blind spots.

"And this," Lacey announced, pushing open a set of heavy, reinforced double doors, "is where the magic happens!"

We stepped into the primary testing floor. It was a massive, cavernous space loaded with highly complicated, expensive-looking machinery.

I couldn’t guess the actual function of half the equipment in the room, but it absolutely nailed the required ’bleeding-edge super-science’ aesthetic.

I scanned the layout critically. The floor plan was solid. There was plenty of open space for a choreographed brawl if we shoved a few diagnostic consoles out of the way.

My attention immediately locked onto the ceiling. A massive, reinforced skylight stretched directly over the center of the room. It was practically begging for a dramatic, glass-shattering aerial entrance.

"And this," Lacey continued, gesturing toward a frantic-looking man in a pristine white lab coat, "is Doctor Lindquist. He is the lead engineer on the project, and he will be assisting you with the technical integration for your event."

The second he heard his name, Lindquist spun away from the massive diagnostic terminal he had been obsessively tweaking. His face lit up with absolute, unadulterated joy.

"Hello! Hello!" Lindquist practically shouted, bounding across the lab floor toward us like an overgrown, over-caffeinated golden retriever. He grabbed my armored hand with both of his, shaking it vigorously. His frizzy, unkempt hair bounced wildly around his head. "This is an absolute pleasure! No, no, it is a profound honor to have you standing in my laboratory! The Iron Polaris himself, coming to orchestrate a heist on my floor! It is truly a delight! Truly!"

"Uh, thanks," I said, awkwardly returning the aggressive handshake. I exchanged a brief, bewildered glance with Glacia. "So, you built the—"

"Of course! You want to inspect the generator prototype! It is right over here, please, follow me!" Lindquist babbled, physically dragging me by the gauntlet toward the massive installation dominating the center of the room.

It was an incredibly impressive piece of hardware. The machine resembled an immense, transparent containment box. Suspended dead-center within the housing was a heavy metallic cylinder. Thick, intricate copper rods jutted outward from overlapping rings, gleaming under the harsh overhead lights like a highly lethal, geometric chandelier.

"Not a bad prop," I admitted, stepping closer to inspect the housing.

"Thank you!" Lindquist beamed, gesturing wildly at the cylinder with a flapping white sleeve. "As you can see, the Atoma Cell is fully prepped and primed for your incursion! This absolute beauty operates on a completely revolutionary structural model.

"It houses a highly advanced micro-reactor core. It employs proprietary fission processes to generate an immense, localized thermal output, which is then instantaneously converted into raw electricity through a series of internal mechanisms.

"Do you see those rods? The core is insulated by multiple layers of specialized, experimental materials to contain and regulate the intense radiation during the generation cycle."

"Uh-huh," I muttered.

The rapid-fire technical briefing flew right over my head, but I didn’t need a degree in advanced physics to know the machine was heavily stacked.

My magnetic field buzzed and hummed as I stood near it, picking up the dense, exotic alloys and highly conductive precious metals woven throughout the delicate internal lattice.

"Ah, but you don’t care about the foundational mathematics, of course! Absolutely not!" Lindquist exclaimed, displaying a genuinely shocking level of self-awareness for a corporate mad scientist. "You want to hear about the boundless evil you can unleash with such a device! Well, allow me to personally assure you, Polaris, you can execute some truly nefarious operations with this machine!

"Why, once you bypass the safety limiters and spool the core to maximum capacity, you could easily harness the raw electrical output required to tear open a dimensional rift and summon your demonic horde! It will be a spectacular visual!"

I stared at the bouncing scientist. "You’ve been following my work."